


Something Beyond First Impressions

by Ponaco



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6304471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponaco/pseuds/Ponaco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Iron Bull can't stop staring.</p>
<p>Early stages of the romance between the Iron Bull and my Inquisitor Alwyne Lavellan. Subsequent chapters will be a bit more smutty :0)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He hated wearing shoes. It was one of the first things The Iron Bull noticed beyond first impressions. His boots were the first thing to go when they reached camp or during the occasional moment of peace at Skyhold. When bare feet were not an option Bull would watch the Inquisitor shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other or constantly adjust the offending garments. Trying to catch a glimpse of his face when he was finally able to rip off his heavy boots and wiggle his toes was quickly becoming one of the Bull’s favorite games. The red-haired elf would close his eyes and the corner of his mouth lifted into a content smile.

Bull knew it was risky, to openly stare and wait with obvious anticipation to see that smile. He was certain to get caught, already was by Krem, but a punch to his Lieutenants shoulder was enough to quell any further teasing. Krem was one thing. He understood, but how would the Inquisitor respond to seeing the Qunari leering at him as he undressed; even in such a small way. The possibility of getting caught did little to deter him, if anything it made the game all the more exciting. Or so he thought, until the possibility became reality.

Brown eyes blinked open far sooner than usual, meeting the Bull’s stare with a look of sudden confusion. He looked over his shoulder as though the subject of Bull’s intent study must be somewhere directly behind him. Bull should have looked away, stared down at his own feet or pretended a particularly interesting bird swooped overhead. When the warm, fading light of day caught the sharp angle of the Inquisitor’s ear he couldn’t pry his eyes away. He was smitten, he was a goner; he was never going to be able to look away.

“What?” Alwyne asked with an easy chuckle and a hurried wipe of his hands over the tattoos on his forehead and chin. “Do I have something on my face?” he added, snickering at his own joke.

Bull chuckled, deep and resonating in his chest. “All over, Boss. Lemme get that for you.”

He crossed the small distance between them before his better judgment had a chance to gain control over his growing desire to touch those tattoos. Bull’s hand dwarfed the elf’s slender face and something fluttered in the Bull’s chest as Alwyne took in a tiny breath at the sudden contact. He didn’t flinch, even going as far as to lean into the touch with a slight dip of his shoulders. Bull ran his thumb across the nearest green tattoo, tracing the Dalish pattern up towards the dip of his jaw, stopping short of touching his ear.

“Afraid it’s stuck, Boss,” he said, his voice gruff with the undeniable intention of want.

“Oh,” Alwyne replied quietly. “Guess I’ll keep them then.”

Bull watched his slow swallow travel down his throat, wanting nothing more than to trace the journey with his tongue. He held back an appreciative groan at the sight of Alwyne’s pupils growing with each passing moment they shared the small space. The usual flippant smile or annoyed pout were replaced with something else entirely. It wasn’t apprehension as The Bull had feared, but something far more curious. Thinly veiled excitement twitched in the sharp line of his jaw and brazen desire tinted the tips of his ears a light shade of pink.

“Hey, Tiny!” 

Varric’s gravelly voice burst through the trees with all the subtlety of a falling axe. Bull sat back, his hand sliding from Alwyne’s face. He cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder to see the dwarf struggling over the large exposed roots of trees and cursing the entirety of the Emerald Graves for all to hear. 

“The cart is stuck, could use a hand,” he said, motioning with his thumb back towards the path below.

“Be right there,” Bull replied.

He climbed to his feet amid the fading sounds of Varric’s continued complaints. Bull rolled his shoulders and stalled for time under the pretense of straightening the straps across his armor. 

“Why do you do that?”

He started at the question, shifting as his thoughts raced to settle on exactly what Alwyne meant. “What?” he mumbled in place of an actual response.

“Why do you always watch me take off my boots?” he asked. 

The question lingered and a knowing smirk crossed the elf’s face. Bull couldn’t help but be impressed that the Inquisitor apparently played his own game all along. Alwyne wiggled his toes in the air, making a big show of it.

“Is it a foot thing?” he teased. “I do have rather nice ones.”

Bull considered a litany of witty remarks and inappropriate comments. All options paled to the possibility of telling the truth. He fashioned himself a liar; insisted upon it to anyone who would listen. The truth became something unbelievable, just another lie in a string of falsehoods. Sometimes it became a guessing game even to his own ears, to sort out what was true and what scuttled along with the rest of the story he told.

“You always look so content when you’re doing it,” Bull replied. “Relieved. You smile and curl your toes into the grass or sand. In that moment I can see you, what you were before all of this. I like seeing you that way. I like seeing you free.”

He turned before Alwyne could reply, before Bull could see if his words were believed or laughed off as another joke. 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. He Could Sleep Anywhere

He could fall asleep anywhere and often did. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility to find the Inquisitor napping amongst the carts on one of their journeys across Thedas or snoring softly in his chair at a crowded tavern. Sera once even caught him sleeping in one of the taller trees surrounding Skyhold’s garden; but this, this was the first time The Iron Bull witnessed him sleeping on the back of a horse.

The large Imperial Warmblood meandered its way down the narrow path with zero sense of urgency. It swatted at a trio of persistent flies with its tail, its easy gait seemingly lulling the elf in its saddle to sleep. Alwyne’s head bobbed down towards his chest until his chin hit the curved metal of his breastplate, snapping him awake. He blinked and looked around with a glaring squint towards the sun. His eyes didn’t stay open for long and the next roll of his head fell to the side, leaning awkwardly on his shoulder before slumping forward.

“He’s going over,” Varric said, motioning towards where the Inquisitor was starting a slow slide from the saddle that would not end well.

The Iron Bull lurched forward, catching the elf around the waist before he hit the ground. Alwyne was certainly awake now, wide-eyed and flailing, his foot tangled in the stirrup. Still holding him off the ground Bull took the reins in hand to keep the horse from moving. Freeing his foot from the stirrup Bull placed a flustered Alwyne safely on the ground. The Inquisitor huffed, smoothing out his traveling cloak while trying to reclaim some sense of dignity. He leaned over and snagged his staff from where it clattered to the ground during the de-horsing.

“Might be safer if you took the rest of the trip on foot, Boss,” Bull said.

Varric’s quiet chuckle did nothing to help the embarrassed flush of Lavellan’s ears and the flustered crinkle of his nose. He waved off Bull’s hands, but didn’t, the Qunari noticed, climb back onto his horse. Bull watched him stomp off down the trail, an easy smirk settled on his lips and his hands warmed at the memory of Alwyne’s weight upon them. Any lingering embarrassment from the Inquisitor’s impromptu dismount seemed all but forgotten as the party settled down at camp for the evening.

The Iron Bull watched Alwyne skirt around the fire, pausing to hold his hands out to the flames. He sat down beside Bull close enough for their legs to touch. He never shied away from contact, a casual touch of hands or a brush of hips when they walked side by side. Bull didn’t discourage him. Although sometimes he thought it might be best if he did. He was sent here to get close to the Inquisitor, to send information back to the Qun; but with every light touch or lingering smile his resolve faltered.

“Jerky?” Alwyne asked, holding up a hunk of the dried halla meat he loved so much.

“I’m good, thanks Boss,” Bull replied.

“Your loss,” Alwyne said, flashing a grin before tearing off a piece of jerky with his teeth.

Varric joined them a few minutes later and brought with him Cassandra and his usual stories. That night it was an epic and likely highly fictional account of his time with the Champion of Kirkwall. Halfway through the familiar story Bull felt a sudden weight against his chest. Alwyne rested his head on Bull, snoring quietly as he nuzzled closer. Bull fought the urge to drape his arm around him or smooth back his deep red hair.

“I know the story could use some work, but I didn’t think it was that bad,” Varric said.

He smirked and jabbed absently at the dying embers along the base of the fire-pit, sending sparks flying. Bull wanted to let Alwyne sleep. He wanted to hold him close and let him rest without worry. The responsibility of the Inquisition weighed heavy on Alwyne’s shoulders and the Bull knew if there was even a chance that he could carry some of that weight, he would. But the Iron Bull didn’t usually get what he wanted, what he wanted was inconsequential. The longer he let Alwyne sleep curled up at his side, the more curious stares and murmured whispers spread through the camp.

“Boss, think it’s about time to call it a night,” he said, his voice quiet with obvious regret at having to wake him.

Alwyne grumbled quietly in Elvish and pressed closer to Bull, nuzzling against his chest. Bull shook Alwyne’s shoulder with a gentle hand. He tightened his grip, intent on trying to wake him once more when he caught sight of the small upturn of the elf’s mouth into a smile. Laughter rumbled deep and nearly silent in Bull’s chest.

“Sneaky,” he murmured low enough so only Alwyne could hear it. “All right, Boss, but only a few more minutes or people will start to talk.”

The smile grew and Bull found his eyes transfixed to that tiny curve of Alwyne’s mouth and the way his eyes crinkled at the edges, closed too tight to truly be sleeping. No one looked close enough to see the truth. He could, after all, sleep anywhere.


	3. Temper

The Inquisitor had a temper. The Iron Bull saw him try to quell it, saw him clench his fist and press his lips together in a thin line when something raised his ire. Usually he was successful. The storm clouds would pass through his eyes and his fist would relax into an open palm. There were sometimes however, when even the most patient met their breaking point; when that small push over the edge was enough to send them tumbling into a rage. Bull did not envy the Venatori who gave the final push that day.

The sky crackled and broke with a cage of lightning that made Bull’s skin tingle even several yards away. The top of Alwyne’s staff was a blur of blue light as he swung and twirled the weapon to summon another bolt from the sky. The next strike shook the ground beneath Bull’s feet, the dry grass of the plains scorched black. The Venatori fell to the earth, the same black scorch marks marring his armor. The Venatori’s fall did nothing to stop the crackle of magic and the torrent of curses that drifted across the battlefield like a dark storm cloud. 

Bull had seen that look before in his own eyes when anger was all encompassing and he gave himself up to it. He felt it in the swirling blood-red surf of Seheron and among the dense jungle with the blood of a Tal-Vashoth still wet on his blade. He feared that place, the dark and the red where he lost himself to the thrum of the kill. The Inquisitor had a temper, he shouted it across the plains and summoned death to his very fingertips, but the sight of it made Bull recoil. Alwyne didn’t belong in the dark and the red place. He was sunshine and easy smiles with a spark in his eyes that hinted at trouble.

“Boss!” Bull shouted, his feet carrying him towards the lightning strikes with little concern for his own safety. “Boss! Alwyne!”

He didn’t turn until Bull shouted his name, shock and confusion spread across his pale face as though he was hearing it for the first time. The glow of his staff flickered and the crackle of electricity dissipated into the air. Wide-eyed and ashen his arm slid to hang loose at his side, his staff clattering to the scorched grass beneath his feet. The Iron Bull leaned over and picked it up. He rolled the smooth handle over his palm and held it out to its owner.

“I think you got him,” he said, motioning towards the fallen Venatori.

Alwyne blinked, his confusion twisting into another mask of anger that narrowed his eyes to slits and scrunched the freckles across his nose into a blotchy line. “Slaver piece of shit,” he growled.

Bull let him get in a few good kicks. The next dull thud of his boot fell short, broken by a strangled sound in Alwyne’s throat that skirted dangerously close to a sob. He leaned forward against his staff. The fight and anger left his body in that slow slump of his shoulders.

I should have been there,” Alwyne said.

Shame clung to each word with a bitterness Bull could taste at the back of his throat. It wrapped around the anger until Alwyne’s eyes shimmered with held back tears and his slight frame trembled against the fight.

“They attacked my clan and I was here. For what? So Orleasian nobles can call me knife ear behind my back and this scum can…”  
His voice broke and the storm cloud behind his eyes crashed to life. He aimed another kick at the Venatori’s already shattered ribs. “I should have been there! What good is any of this if I can’t even protect my own clan?”

The Inquisitor had a temper. Bull had seen as much, but this wasn’t anger, not entirely. This was something far more insidious. It coiled in every muscle and sparked in warning at his fingertips. Bull had only ever watched Alwyne’s anger, never reached a hand to sooth the tension or calm an outburst.

“Cullen’s troops reached them in time,” he said, a quiet frown marring his attempt at reassurance. 

Alwyne nodded and shuffled awkwardly on his feet. They both knew that was hardly the point. An uneasy quiet settled between them, cold and heavy with truths left unsaid. Bull understood. This wasn’t the dark red place with its bite and flash and blood-soaked blades. It was cold and heavy, starting as a spark but ending in a hollow, helpless ache. He couldn’t make this better. He couldn’t change the harsh truth of the world or give back all that was lost and taken. Bull reached out and pulled Alwyne close.   
The Inquisitor never shied away from physical contact. Not with anyone and particularly not with the Iron Bull. He took in a sharp breath of surprise and went rigid in the Bull’s arms. A horrible, sinking feeling settled in the Bull’s stomach as he considered he may have made the wrong decision. He prided himself on reading people, on knowing what someone needed before they did. There was the occasional misstep; a handful of times when he got things wrong. He started to loosen his grip and prepared for a hasty and awkward explanation.

“I still should have been there,” Alwyne said, his voice muffled as he returned the embrace, his arms not quite long enough to do a proper hug justice.

Bull took in a slow breath and tightened his grip once more. The fiery remains of Alwyne’s magic crackled and smoked around them amid sounds of the battle dying down just over the crest of the hill. The others would reach them soon; pale-faced and bloodied from fights of their own. Their embrace would raise eyebrows and questions Bull wasn’t ready to answer. He didn’t want to subject the Inquisitor to that, not to today, but he didn’t want to let go either.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I understand what it’s like to be far from home, far from your people, but I need you to know, Boss…you’re not alone here. We all have your back. I have you.”

Eyes, bright with tears looked up at him. A strand of red hair fell across his forehead and Bull struggled to resist the urge to brush it away or let his hand linger along the side of the elf’s face. He heard the sound of others cresting the hill before he spotted them on the horizon. The Inquisitor’s arms slid from his waist as Alwyne wiped at the tears on his cheeks. Tears would raise an entirely different round of questions. Bull would save him from that if he could. He leaned over and heaved Alwyne from his feet in an easy carry.

“I’ll tell them you took a knock to the head,” Bull explained. “I’ll take you to your tent. They’ll leave you alone for the night.”

Alwyne relaxed in his arms, leaning his head against Bull’s chest. Slender fingers curled around the strap of Bull’s armor as the Inquisitor snuggled close. He nodded, hiding his face from the world. Any lingering hint of anger left his body in a rush of a sigh and the warm press of his palm against Bull’s chest. It was all the thanks he needed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A light, flirty chapter this evening. The next one will be a bit on the smutty side :0) Thanks to everyone for reading!

He loved the water. He would walk barefoot into the freezing surf of the storm coast with his eyes shut and a smile pointed towards the horizon. If the sea brought a smile to his face than a cool forest stream or the pool at the foot of a waterfall brought a grin. The Iron Bull would watch him bounce eagerly on the heels of his boots as Cassandra briefed the camp of the day’s gains. He wasn’t listening. He rarely listened, but was usually much more discrete with his disinterest. Brown eyes darted towards the sound of rushing water a mere hundred yards away with an almost comical regularity.

Bull half expected the Inquisitor to let out an excited whoop as Cassandra finished and the small gathered crowd began to scatter. Somehow already free of his boots he grabbed hold of Bull’s arm, his slender fingers barely circumventing half of his triceps. A gentle tug in the direction of the pool and a flash of white teeth were all the convincing Bull needed to allow Alwyne to lead him through the camp. A steep incline of grass led to a pebbled shore at the foot of a small waterfall. Dragonflies zipped across the surface of the water on mist-strewn air heavy with the scent of wildflowers. The Emerald Graves truly were a beautiful place; when they weren’t being attacked by demons or red Templars, of course.

“I never thought we were going to stop marching,” Alwyne exclaimed over the crash of the water. “I can’t imagine there are any red Templars left in the Graves. Maybe in all of Thedas,” he added around a bark of a laugh.

“Well, if there are we’ll make short work of ‘em, Boss,” Bull said, flexing for emphasis and then trying not to pout when his efforts went unseen. “You need some help with that?”

A chuckle, deep and genuine rumbled in Bull’s chest at the sight of Alwyne flailing and hopping around in a desperate attempt to free his tunic from where it was properly stuck over his face and half-way up his arms. A muffled assurance that he didn’t need help sounded from under the folds of cotton even as the bottom of the garment tore from where it snagged on his belt. Undeterred Alwyne threw the offending shirt to the ground and struck a triumphant pose, complete with tousled red hair and a blush that spread out across his now exposed collarbones.

“Nothing to it,” he said, flashing a grin.

Bull couldn’t help but notice that the freckles across Alwyne’s nose dusted the tops of his shoulders as well. He cleared his throat in hopes that it might also clear his mind from wondering where else he might find more of those tempting little dots. 

“Never doubted you, Boss,” he said, clearing his throat once more as his voice sounded huskier than he would like.

“I do inspire loyalty,” Alwyne chuckled, pulling off his belt with an over-zealous whip of the leather Bull usually associated with far-less wholesome activities than swimming. “I’ve been wanting a swim all day. It’s boiling in this ridiculous armor.”

“Better than getting stabbed with a…”

Bull lost his train of thought; his mind going blank in a way that would normally concern him. He liked to be in control, over his thoughts, over the actions of those around him. If he was in control he felt safe. He liked to feel safe. He also liked the sight of the Inquisitor standing in only his small-clothes on the bank of a forest stream bathed in sunlight. Alwyne stretched his arms up towards the skin and arched his back in a way that made Bull think he knew he was being watched.

“Oh, you wouldn’t let anyone stab me,” he said, sliding out of his small-clothes before diving into the water.

This wasn’t the first time Bull saw the Inquisitor naked and he wasn’t the only one to share that distinction. Alwyne never shied away from disrobing, much to some of the more conservative members of the Inquisition’s chagrin. He was entirely comfortable in his own skin, a side-effect Bull was certain, of having grown up in a tight-knit clan that held little in the way of privacy. Alwyne broke the surface of the water, flicking his hair out of his eyes and spitting a spout of water across the pool. He laughed and kicked onto his back, swirling his palms back and forth to stay afloat.

“Are you coming in or what?” he called out. 

“Swimming’s not really my thing, Boss,” Bull replied, finding a nice, soft spot to sit along the shore.

“What? How can swimming not be your thing?” Alwyne said, dropping his legs so that he could peer at Bull across the water with open suspicion. “You…you can swim though, right?”

“Of course I can swim,” Bull scoffed.

He undid the clasp across his chest that held his harness in place and rolled his eye at the sound of the Inquisitor clucking his tongue at him in disbelief.   
“There’s no shame in it if you can’t,” Alwyne said in a voice that bordered on a taunting song. “I’m sure there are a lot of people who can’t swim.”

Bull knew when someone was trying to get to him. No matter if it was done in jest or with something more biting hiding behind a wolf-like smile; Bull could spot it a mile away. He pulled off his boots and took a moment to appreciate the cool feel of the grass beneath his toes. Alwyne was watching him. The Inquisitor ducked beneath the surface when Bull met his gaze. Dropping his belt to the ground alongside the rest of his armor Bull left his trousers for last. He knew when someone was trying to get to him, but usually he was far less willing to rise to the bait.

The water crashed in a tidal wave that splashed along the rocky shore as Bull heaved himself into the pond with a cry that seemed more fitting on the battlefield. Alwyne laughed and sputtered in a vain attempt to stay above the surface in the new onslaught of waves in the previously still waters. Gaining his bearings he swam in circles around Bull, who greatly appreciated the clearness of the water. A smug, little smile spread across his face.

“It’s not exactly swimming if your feet touch the ground,” Alwyne chuckled, motioning with a nod of his head to the water that, now mostly settled only reached just above Bull’s chest.

“You might be right, but the view is a bit better from here,” Bull replied with a cheeky grin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little smutty/fluffy (smuffy?) this chapter, nothing too explicit. Enjoy :0)

Alwyne had a spot, one the Iron Bull didn’t need much help finding that made his back arch and toes curl when Bull pressed his lips to it. It was above the curve of his slender hip on the left side amid a scattered dusting of freckles along the bone. Bull found it their first night together. It was a passing thing that evening, a brief and happy discovery that he locked away for a special occasion. This night, behind the canvas flap of his tent on the red, dry hills of the Western Approach was just such an occasion.

Gone were the heavy anticipation and expectations of their first coupling. A long day of fighting and marching across the Approach lent itself to something slower, with languid kisses and gentle touches on freshly exposed skin. Bull made quick work of removing Alwyne’s armor, the elf more than eager to oblige. Quiet moans and tiny gasps accompanied every pass of Bull’s hands or press of his lips. He smiled into the curve of Alwyne’s neck and gave his bottom a squeeze as he perched precariously on the Qunari’s lap.

“The whole camp will hear you if you keep that up,” Bull teased, his next kiss ending in a bite that drew a louder moan. “Or maybe that’s what you want.”

“Not…exactly,” Alwyne replied with a chuckle and a slow roll of his hips.

A yelp left the elf’s throat as Bull scooped him into his arms and rested him atop the bedroll as though he weighed no more than a feather. Bull captured his lips before another sound could escape. Laughter, quiet and persistent tumbled beyond firm kisses and teasing bites. Bull ran his hand up Alwyne’s slender body, easily taking hold of his wrists to pin them above his head. An appreciative growl rumbled in Bull’s chest.

“Think you can keep quiet?” Bull asked. 

Alwyne nodded, lips swollen and pupils blown wide. Bull kept hold of his wrists in one hand and moved down to grip Alwyne’s hip with the other. He rolled his thumb over the dip at his waist, ghosting over the bottom of his ribs until he squirmed and whimpered his approval. Bull knew it was a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep. He would make sure of it. 

“Really?” Bull asked.

“Yes…oh, fuck!” Alwyne gasped as Bull’s mouth found the spot above his hip.

Another growl sounded in Bull’s chest and he pushed down on Alwyne, pinning the elf beneath him. Alwyne seemed to find the entire situation amusing. He lifted his knees as best he could with the Bull looming over him, knocking the Qunari in the ribs amid a teasing wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Seems not, Al,” Bull said, trying to hide his grin as Alwyne laughed and tried once more to lift his hips.

“Al? I like that,” he chuckled, breaking free of the loose grip on his wrist. He pushed up on his elbows and wrapped his arms around Bull’s neck, pulling him into a kiss. “Guess you’re going to have to find a way to keep me quiet.”

Slow, lazy kisses gave way to something more urgent. His hand still firmly gripping Alwyne, Bull ground his hips and caught each moan with an eager press of his mouth. Another muffled curse against their next kiss melted into a gasp at the sound of ripped fabric. Spreading his knees on either side of Alwyne’s hips Bull pulled away despite the whimper of protest. He leaned over and lifted Alwyne’s head off the pillow. Something bright and excited flashed in the elf’s eyes. He never looked away, he never flinched; the fearlessness only spurring Bull on.

“I’m going to make sure you keep quiet,” he said, sliding the ripped piece of blanket between Alwyne’s teeth. “If you need me to stop tap twice on my head or shoulder,” he instructed, knotting the cloth at the back of Alwyne’s head. “All right?”

He gave a vigorous nod and another knock of his knees against Bull’s ribs. The gag muffled the brunt of Alwyne’s continued attempts at being heard. Bull took his time. Gentle hands and precise kisses found each freckle and sun spot on his journey from collarbone to navel. The dramatic moans and teasing wiggles faltered as Bull pressed his mouth to Alwyne’s hip and sucked hard enough to leave a bruise. The Iron Bull couldn’t make out the words Alwyne shouted against the gag between his teeth, but he was fairly certain most of them would make a more innocent man blush.

“Ya got something to say, Al?” Bull asked with a grin and a slow pass of his tongue over the newly bruised skin. 

A shiver ran through the elf’s slender body, ending with an arch of his back that sent Bull’s heart racing. He hooked his thumbs into Alwyne’s smallclothes and pulled them down his legs, cutting off the budding laughter that rumbled in his chest. Bull lowered his head, intent on working a new spot, just as sensitive as the first.


	6. Chapter 6

The Inquisitor couldn’t hold his drink. That obvious and unquestionable truth did not stop him from trying to keep up with far more experienced drinkers. Three mugs of watered-down ale and his voice went up an octave and the growing flush across his pale face made his freckles stand out all the brighter. His boisterous laugh ended in a snort as Sera leaned in close, already two drinks ahead of him and told what Bull could only assume was a dirty joke. The two laughed even harder when Cassandra grunted her disapproval, but failed to hide the tiniest of smiles behind her drink.

The tavern was a raucous, crowded jumble of Inquisition soldiers and sour-faced locals who were no doubt irritated at the takeover of their local watering hole. It didn’t matter. The Inquisition had reason to celebrate. The Iron Bull had reason to celebrate. They killed a dragon. It was a glorious fight and the elf that landed the killing blow was now standing on a stool and loudly singing what he insisted between off-key lyrics was an old Dalish song of victory. 

Bull saw the legs wobble before Alwyne realized the stool was going over. His arms wind-milled frantically in a futile attempt to stay upright, but he was beyond the point of return. Bull lurched forward, snagging Alwyne around the waist before his head connected with the tavern floor. A sharp intake of breath expanded his lungs under Bull’s hands. Sera cackled manically, pointing and nearly falling off her stool in the process. 

“My hero!” Alwyne exclaimed around a laugh that ended in a loud hiccup.

The hiccup only led to more laughter which ended in a snort and again, to more laughter. If Bull didn’t know better he might not believe that this snorting, pile of giggles was actually a dragon slayer and leader of the Inquisition. He clung to Bull’s arm as the Qunari attempted to stand him upright, the infectious laughter dying away into gasping breaths and watering eyes.

“How about a nice glass of water, Al?” Bull suggested, offering a lopsided smile. “Maybe some bread?”

“We’ll drink water when we’re dead!” Sera shouted from the bar with an aggressive lift of her mug that left half her ale splattering to the floor.

“Yeah!” Alwyne agreed, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Wait, what?”

Bull kept a steadying hand on the elf’s back before leaning over to whisper in his ear. “Ya can’t exactly hold your drink, Boss. Might be time to switch to water.”

Alwyne glanced sideways at him, the look on his face unreadable, even to the Iron Bull. His eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, the green lines of his Vallasin blending together. That look was as readable as the blackest ink on a white page. Bull saw that look before they rushed into battle. He saw it on Alwyne’s face when debates at the war table became heated. He was determined. Bull was in for a fight. The Iron Bull squared his shoulders, never one to back down, ready to stand his ground. Before he could decide on his best course of action Alwyne reached up and latched his hands onto Bull’s waist just above the top of his belt.

“Uh…what are you doing, Al?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in response to Alwyne’s apparent attempt to lift him.

“I’m…holding…my drink,” he grunted, giving up with a dramatic sigh that melted into an evil, little smirk. “Cause you’re a tall drink of water.”

Bull let the joke wash over him until his mouth spread into a grin so wide it hurt his face and a boom of laughter left his chest and startled the nearest table of revelers into spilling their drinks. He reached down and lifted Alwyne off his feet holding the drunk elf in the air. Slender, deft hands encircled Bull’s ears and Alwyne leaned down for a kiss, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Did you see me kill that dragon?” he asked, breaking apart long enough to throw Sera a lewd gesture in response to her whooping cat-call before leaning his forehead against Bull’s. “How it tried to burn us alive, but couldn’t handle all of this,” he said, another smirk settled on his face as he pushed his hips forward for leverage so he could flex both arms.

Bull easily held him aloft, wishing very much that they were alone. Wanting nothing more than to press him against a wall and really give him something to smirk about. Another rumble of laughter sounded in Bull’s chest and spread throughout his body with a warm tingle like the best drink of whiskey he ever had. The feeling was something unfamiliar yet welcomed by every inch of him. 

It sparked in his fingertips and tugged relentlessly at the corners of his mouth into a grin. He could stay like this forever; covered in warmth with this red-headed elf in his arms.The realization took him by surprise, turning the pleasant warmth into a sharp, persistent heat beneath his ribs. He was supposed to be in control. A casual fling, a kiss or night of something more was expected, even sought after. An undeniable ache of want and need for his company was something new entirely. 

“Don’t think anyone can handle that, Al,” he replied, giving him a gentle squeeze. 

The hands returned to Bull’s face and pulled him into a kiss. Slow and tasting of cheap ale, Bull tilted his chin for another try. Fingers scraped at the base of his horns and scratched an intoxicating pattern that spread warmth to somewhere rather specific. Bull muffled a quiet groan and briefly caught Alwyne’s bottom lip in his teeth as he pulled away from a third attempt at a kiss.

“What do you say we go get you another drink someplace private, Dragon Slayer?” 

The smirk returned and the Inquisitor leaned in close to Bull’s ear. “Maybe I could breathe fire for you.”

Bull didn’t think he could grin any wider. He could definitely stay like this forever.


End file.
